


Love Somebody

by Sincestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: The breeze ruffles Castiel's hair, and when he inhales, the scent of brine fills his lungs.  He can hear the waves crash against rock somewhere to his left, and for a moment he just exists as he is, in all his angelic glory.  His wings extended and free, feathers displaced slightly from the wind.  His celestial being absorbing the sounds and smells surrounding him.  His bare feet dig into the sand and the salty water runs, cool and almost gritty, over his toes.
These are things he was never meant to experience, the sheer humanity in this moment causes a deep ache at the very center of him.  His heart, or possibly his grace, weighs heavy in his chest.  He does not know if it is premature regret or longing for that which he was not supposed to have, but it matters very little.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mess. Not only is it AU in big ways (Destiel) but also in small ways. Sorry about that. But hey, this one has been on my hard drive probably the longest out of all of them. So who even knows what I was thinking when 90% of this was written. All mistakes are my own.

_If I fall for you_

“Cas?”

Dean's voice is barely even a whisper, just a ghost of warm breath puffed against Castiel's lips. But Castiel hears him, hears all the questions he's not asking. He hears the uncertainty, the doubt. But just beneath that, hope and desire. Perhaps even, dare Castiel hope, love. And it is that thread of emotion, that feeling that Castiel is only just beginning to fully understand, which has brought them to this point.

“Everything will change,” Castiel answers, lips still poised just short of touching.

And it will. Without his, albeit waning, grace, he will be but a man. A human with no power. That scares him because it will mean the protection and relative safety he can offer this man and his younger brother will be limited.

Though Jimmy is long gone, this body is still a vessel. He has yet to fully integrate himself, cannot with his grace still intact. But, if he does this, takes that final leap, it will be his completely. All of the shortcomings and trappings that come with being human will be his. It is frightening.

And yes, the thought of no longer being able to heal and provide a cushion for the brothers to whom he has dedicated himself is scary, but it is not that which has kept him hovering on the edge of his own proverbial cliff for so long. It is this, the way Dean looks at him now. Like... well, like an angel. Like he is precious and powerful, something to be treasured. There is, despite Dean's obvious feelings for angels in general and Castiel's own mistakes, a sort of respect in his eyes that Castiel is terrified of losing.

If he falls, he wonders if Dean will still look at him the same way. Still want him with such a desperate urgency. Without his angelic nature, that which truly makes him _him_ , will Dean still behold him with such reverence? Because he does, even if he would never admit it out loud. It is all right there in his eyes, in the way they roam over his face, practically caressing with nothing more than his gaze.

“I know,” Dean offers. And though Castiel knows there are still lingering doubts, there is no hesitancy, “Please.”

The plea is uttered with a certain note of despair, as if Dean thinks he has no right to ask, but he can't help himself. But it is what Castiel needs. He needs to know that this is what they both want. And the rest, however Dean might feel about him afterward, is forgotten.

Dean's body is so close, his shirt brushing the front of Castiel's trenchcoat, but there is not a single point of contact between their bodies, and when Dean raises a hand and makes to cover the almost nonexistent distance between them, Castiel steps back.

There is a moment of complete panic in Dean, Castiel can see it in the sudden tightening of his body, the slight widening of his eyes. But Castiel calms him with a shaky hand placed on the man's shoulder.

“Not yet. Not until... after.”

It is obvious that Dean understands immediately. Castiel does want him, need him, just as badly. But when they take this final step, Castiel wants for it to happen when he is fully human. When he is able to experience everything just as Dean does.

Dean nods and accepts the space Castiel has placed between them. Though, he does lift a hand to cup the side of Castiel's face, and the move is so tender, so unlike him, that Castiel is taken by surprise. And he thinks he understands why so many women have fallen victim to this man's charm. But there is a difference here, an undercurrent of need and want that Castiel is not even sure Lisa got to see. It is stunning and almost enough to make him rethink his plan to wait.

“Come back. Soon.” Dean says, his thumb running softly along Castiel's bottom lip, tugging the skin just a bit. And all Castiel can do is nod and take his leave before his body betrays him and he presses Dean into the nearest solid surface.

_I'll never recover_

The breeze ruffles Castiel's hair, and when he inhales, the scent of brine fills his lungs. He can hear the waves crash against rock somewhere to his left, and for a moment he just exists as he is, in all his angelic glory. His wings extended and free, feathers displaced slightly from the wind. His celestial being absorbing the sounds and smells surrounding him. His bare feet dig into the sand and the salty water runs, cool and almost gritty, over his toes.

These are things he was never meant to experience, the sheer humanity in this moment causes a deep ache at the very center of him. His heart, or possibly his grace, weighs heavy in his chest. He does not know if it is premature regret or longing for that which he was not supposed to have, but it matters very little. 

His decision is made, probably was made long before this point. And now he is just allowing himself a moment of peace before the pain. The calm before the storm, so to speak.

He cannot fall, not really. To do so would mean a new body and a new life. It would mean giving up everything he wants. It would mean losing Dean. And that, to him, is not worth it. It is not really humanity he is seeking, though that will be the end result either way.

No. What Castiel seeks is to break his ties with heaven. He seeks a life in which he is not constantly divided between his duties and his desires. He wants Dean, to give himself completely to the man who, in some ways, already owns him.

He knows this will be infinitely more painful, but just as irreversible. And that is really all that matters.

Falling to his knees, Castiel feels the foamy water begin to soak into his trousers, but that minor discomfort is ignored. He needs to pray.

Prayer is not something he is familiar with on a personal level. But, in this moment, it feels necessary. What, however, should one say to a Father who has abandoned him? Castiel does not know. And, maybe, there is some part of him that has never really felt abandoned. Maybe there is a part of him that has been holding out hope for a sign that he is not alone. He would like to think that is the case anyway. But mostly he just feels left behind and forgotten.

In the end, he murmurs only two words.

_”Forgive me.”_

And then, turning his gaze heavenward, Castiel takes one deep breath, experiences one more moment of completeness, whole and perfect, just the way he was created. He revels in it, almost sways in his conviction. Then Dean's face flits through his mind, all the possibilities and all the love he has seen in those eyes. Every moment of longing and every almost confession. And it is all hanging on this. In or out. There is no halfway, and Dean deserves this, someone willing to give everything for him. Castiel deserves it as well, needs it. And, he hopes, he will find a completion in Dean that will surpass anything he has ever found before.

Castiel takes a fortifying breath and uses all of his remaining strength to plunge his hand into the depths of his own chest.

The pain is immense. Beyond any torture he has ever endured. Beyond, even, the sheer wreckage of his heavenly body after he raised Dean from hell.

It is just there, though, dancing at his fingertips. His grace. The only thing he had ever valued before. The only thing that ever meant anything to him before Dean. But his life is split into two distinct phases now. Almost two separate lives. Since he first touched Dean, even his grace has not been of as much importance to him as he knows it should.

So, once again, Castiel grips tightly and pulls. For Dean. For himself.

He thinks he screams, hears the fluttering of wings. Though he is not sure if he is hearing seagulls depart, or if he is hearing himself shedding his own wings. Darkness seeps into his vision, and he knows he is on the verge of unconsciousness, a feeble and ingrained attempt to stop himself from destroying that which his Father lovingly bestowed upon him.

But he refuses to relinquish his grip. He pulls harder, feels his veins light on fire, feels his back arch and bow with the ebb and flow of his power, his very being changing.

For the first time since he has occupied this vessel, he actually _feels_ his heart beat. A steady rhythm that pumps more searing heat through his body. He is burning from the inside out. If he does not let go right now, he will die on this beach. His body will be washed out to sea, lost forever, and his grace will wither and diminish until there is nothing left.

It is that thought which pushes him onward. That innate need to save his grace, keep it close. Hard wiring that demands he stop only makes him more sure. He will not die. Not in the typical fashion. His grace will die. And though he feels an overpowering need to protect it, this is what he wants.

Another scream rips from his lungs, tears his throat and leaves him panting as he finally wrenches his hand free, light spilling from his chest, his hand covered in blood and bathed in an otherwordly glow.

It is a strange moment for him. The pain muted under the absolute awe of watching his grace flicker, watching a part of himself burn out before his eyes. It is a moment of clarity, and he knows he has made the right choice. Everything snaps back into focus as his grace pulses once and then dims to a barely there ray of golden light. He hurts and all he wants is to slip into sleep.

But before he can do that, he dips his hand into the water, watches as the crimson liquid fades to a light pink and the tiny spark is washed away. Lost forever, not only to him, but to anyone else who may wish to possess it.

It is over. Or perhaps it is just beginning. Castiel does not know. But he falls backward and his mind is, for once, quiet and peaceful before his body even hits the sand.

_I'll never be the same_

It's been three days and Dean is more worried than he's ever been. He knows he's gone, many times, for longer periods without seeing Cas. But this time it feels different. Final, in a way. Not that he thinks he won't see Castiel again, but that when he does nothing will be as it was.

There will be certain expectations. And Dean isn't scared of that, not anymore. But it's huge, what Castiel is doing for him. For them, he supposes. And Dean isn't sure if he's worthy of that. He wants it anyway though. And just maybe, for once, he can have something he wants, even if he doesn't really deserve it.

He thinks it was probably the angel thing at first. Wouldn't be the first time he's put himself out there for one. But this time it's more. There's the physical, sure. Which, to be completely honest, terrified him at first. Because angel or no, Castiel is male. Not just the body he inhabits, but at the very core of him, he is male. And maybe Dean would like to say that's never been a thing for him before. Finding guys attractive. But he's in the business of complete honesty now, even if it's only with himself.

It's never been like this though, never more than just a passing interest that is easily suppressed and denied. It's not like that with Cas though, because it isn't entirely physical. He thinks that if he had passed ole Jimmy on the street, he wouldn't have looked twice. Not that the body his angel possesses is unattractive. It just isn't what would typically draw his attention in another man. But there's something about Castiel that keeps Dean riveted. Something about the way he wears Jimmy.

Dean shivers at that thought, and has to remind himself that Jimmy gave himself willingly. It's different than the demons who possess someone without consent. Jimmy wanted Castiel, accepted him entirely. And when the time came, he offered his body without reservation.

But, back to the point, Dean feels something for Castiel that he's never experienced before. A kind of love? Maybe. 

No. Not maybe. Definitely. And while Dean has issues with expressing himself openly to other people, he won't inwardly deny this anymore. Not when Castiel is giving up so much for them to have a chance. And, he thinks, he needs to be prepared to express this to Castiel when he returns too. He owes it to the angel. Man. He'll be a man when he comes back. Completely human.

Dean sighs loudly when that hits him. Fuck. Sammy. All those gay jabs. They're going to come back at him with a single minded ferocity, Dean's sure. And it's not like Dean has ever really had a problem with homosexuality. Hell, he's pretty sure that, despite his propensity to repress, he's been at least a little gay all of his life. Bi, his mind supplies. Bisexual. And it's strange to even think that because, Cas notwithstanding, he's never really considered touching another man in a sexual way. But the what ifs have always lingered, left him questioning more times that he wants to admit.

Okay, so he still has some issues to work through. And he isn't looking forward to his barbs coming full circle. But he'll deal. Besides, he's pretty sure Sam knows something is up. And not one even halfway snide remark has left his mouth. He just watches and waits. Much like Dean has been the past few days.

Several times he's thought about just laying it all out. Telling Sammy in no uncertain terms just what Castiel means to him. He's thought about saying those words out loud. That one that's always been so hard for him if it isn't aimed at his baby brother. But he thinks Sam already knows, has maybe even longer than Dean has. So he's kept it to himself. Thinks maybe it should be Castiel he says it to first anyway.

So they've just been waiting. And normally, outside of the imminent threat of the year, they would be picking up ghosties and ghoulies of the week too, but Sam's just been letting them rest. He seems to know, without Dean saying a word, that it's important they stay somewhere so that they can be easily found. Somewhere anyone who knows them would know to look. Or, more accurately, where Castiel would know to look.

Dean's been itching to start hunting for him. But honestly, he'd have no idea how to even go about it. Maybe they could search hospitals. Would losing his grace leave him injured? Dean's not sure, but he knows what happened with Anna. Surely Cas wouldn't do that though, would he? That would defeat the purpose. _Is_ there even another way? 

He doesn't know, but Castiel seemed to know what he was doing, and Dean trusts him. But that doesn't mean something couldn't have gone wrong.

So, finally, he gives up and brings it to Sam. Three days is long enough to wait. And Sam might have some ideas that Dean doesn't. He might know where to start the search for a fallen angel. Or a graceless angel? It all just gives Dean a headache.

Sam's hunched over his computer, researching and making notes – he thinks of himself as an honest to god Man of Letters now – when Dean gives up moping in his room and goes to find him.

He's not really sure how to start this conversation. Or even what he can say without giving too much away. Because, as much as Sam loves him – and Dean knows he does – he's not certain Sam will react kindly to Dean allowing an angel to fall for him. Not _their_ angel anyway.

But, Dean reminds himself, Castiel has never really been theirs. He's been Dean's angel. Dean's guardian. Dean's friend and confidant. And, he hopes, his future lover. But he's only ever belonged to Sam by default.

Sam doesn't look up as Dean slides into the seat beside him, and as Dean is opening his mouth to ask what, he doesn't know, Sam speaks even as he continues to write.

“I'm already on it. Surprised it took you so long to ask though.”

Dean's brow furrows in confusion because there is absolutely no way, no matter what he knows of Dean's relationship with Castiel, that he could just know what Dean wants like that. But apparently he does.

“How did you know?”

Sam smiles and shakes his head, finally looking up to meet Dean's gaze, “He said he needed to speak with you alone. He was out of sorts and stressed. He left right after and didn't come back. You were mopey but smiley. It didn't take much to figure it out. Plus, he and I discussed it a few weeks ago. I didn't think you'd say no.”

“I...” Dean starts, but he doesn't really know what to say. _I'm sorry for losing us the one ace in the hole we had against most every baddie out there? I'm sorry for corrupting something so pure?_

“It's okay, Dean. It was what he wanted too. And, to be honest, it's going to be really funny to watch him do this human thing for real. So I'm on board. And Garth is already headed this way with one ex-angel in tow.”

Dean takes what feels like his first full breath in days. Castiel is okay. He's alive and it worked. And now Dean doesn't have to share him with Heaven. Castiel is his.

“You should know though,” Sam starts, closing his laptop and putting his pen down, and that does not bode well, “He's suffered some memory loss.”

Dread drips down Dean's spine, cold like ice, and he sits up a little straighter. If Castiel doesn't even remember him, then it was all for nothing. Dean doesn't think, without the last few years bringing them together due to circumstances beyond their control, that he will be lucky enough to have Cas fall in love with him twice. If they have to start over, the best Dean can hope for is friendship. Their 'profound bound' – as Cas had put it – will be lost. 

“Don't freak out. He remembers some things. He knows he was an angel. He knows that he gave it all up for you. He remembers you; he's just fuzzy on the details. Garth isn't the best judge since he didn't know Cas as well as we did before, but he says Cas is alright. Just kind of dazed? Maybe?”

“You've known how long? And you didn't say anything?” Dean asks, anger beginning to rise up in him, and he lets it. Anything that can block out the despair that's trying to creep in.

“I was going to talk to you in a little bit. They'll be here in the next few hours and I wanted you to know, but I didn't want you to have too much time to think about it. I didn't want you over thinking anything or doubting anything. He's still our Cas, Dean. _Your_ Cas. He's just going to need some time and some help. That's all. We'll take some time off and help him remember. We'll get him back.”

Sam says it with such conviction that part of Dean wants to believe it. But the odds are never really in their favor and things never go their way. Dean doesn't know why he thought this would be any different.

He doesn't say anything else. There's nothing he can say. He leaves Sam at the table, thinking only about falling into his bed and sleeping the rest of the day away. He's not even sure he wants to see Castiel when he comes back. Not now. Not when Cas won't remember every detail. Not when Cas probably won't even remember _why_ he thought Dean was worth it in the first place.

_I know your insides are feeling so hollow_

He knows it's late when he wakes, his internal clock telling him it's probably well after nine. And the first thing he's aware of is a murmur of voices coming from the other side of his closed door. Sam for certain, and then a deep, low bass that can only be one person.

His heart goes into overdrive, every instinct he has demanding he find the owner of that voice and touch. Just to be positive he really is okay. But Dean fights it. He knows he has to see Cas at some point. But he just doesn't think he's ready. So he stays in bed, tries to make out the words, but it all just blends together. He knows they must be talking about him though and that grates on his nerves. It shouldn't be like this. Sam shouldn't have to tell Cas who he is. Cas should just know. He wasn't supposed to come back this way, a shell, hollow. Deprived of his memories _and_ his grace. Isn't it enough that he lost one? Why did he have to lose both?

It's probably an hour or so later when the knock comes at his door and Dean stands with a huff, expecting Sammy. But when he cracks his door, he's greeted with the sight of Castiel and for a moment he can't breathe.

Cas still looks the same, funny little tilt to the side of his shy smile, glint in his blue eyes that makes Dean's knees weak, perpetual bedhead. It's all physically the same. Well, except he's wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans. But, Dean's got to admit, that is a very nice change. He looks good in them. Really fucking good. And is that _his_ shirt? God, it looks so good on him.

He's still got the trenchcoat though, clasped in his hands in front of him like a shield. And that's enough to get Dean's hopes up. Because maybe Castiel remembers the significance of that ugly brown jacket. Maybe he remembers how Dean carried it around for months, just waiting and hoping he'd be able to give it back.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, and it still sounds like him, but lighter, not as heavy with obligation and guilt. Not torn and jagged and weary like he's been so often lately. It's nice.

Dean nods, bites his lip, and steps aside, catching sight of Sam lingering awkwardly a few feet away and trying to be discreet about watching them as he pushes the door closed. He may not want to have this conversation, but he damn well needs to and he wants to do it privately.

Castiel moves differently now, less sure of himself. More human, Dean supposes. It's weird, but not altogether unpleasant. It's comforting, honestly, to know he's not the only one who's nervous and, unlike before, he can see that clearly in Cas' body language.

Cas hovers for a few seconds, eyes flitting between the bed and the chair Dean has stowed in the corner. So unsure. So different. And Dean experiences a moment of total panic. This is not the man who left here a few days ago. He has the same face and the same voice. He even has the trenchcoat. But he's missing something and that is frightening. What if, in the end, the problem isn't Castiel's ability to love Dean? What if the problem is Dean's inability to love the Castiel that has come back to him?

“I'll just...” Castiel's voice trails off as he steps forward and pulls the chair to the center of the room, facing the foot of the bed. “Sit, please.”

It's a command, delivered _almost_ the way his Cas would have said it. But there's an air of authority missing and it falls a bit flat. Still, Dean obeys. Then they're on eye level, nowhere to look but at each other. And Dean wants to crawl out of his skin, away from this moment and everything it could mean for them. But then Cas speaks.

“Sam is your brother. You are hunters. I was an angel and you were in my charge. We... we fell in love. According to Sam, years ago. But we are both hard headed and set in our ways and it took us too damned long to realize it. But when we did, we both jumped without question, and here we are. Or that’s the short version anyway. And I know all of that. I knew it before my talk with Sam earlier. I'm just... I'm missing some pieces. And I think they are important pieces. I need to know it all, or I do not think... I feel... so much, but not enough. And seeing you helps, because I know for sure I'm not delusional. But I need you to help fill in the blanks. Can you do that for me, Dean?”

Dean can't speak past the lump in his throat. Just knowing Cas remembers that much solidifies the hope starting to well up in him. He nods and waits, trusting Cas to get them started. Because it's a long and winding story, and Dean isn't sure where to start.

“I think, first, I would like to see your shoulder. Sam says you have a scar? From me? Can I see that?”

Dean moves without hesitation, rolling his sleeve up and presenting the slightly raised and lighter flesh to the man in front of him. It's hardly even noticeable now, but he does still have the imprint of Castiel's hand on his shoulder just above his bicep.

Cas leans forward to examine it, hand outstretched like he wants to touch but isn't sure if he's allowed.

“You can,” Dean starts, voice low and gritty. He clears his throat and tries again, “You can touch it, if you want. It doesn't hurt. And it's, um... it's yours after all.”

Castiel's fingertips are warm when they meet Dean's skin and Dean gasps just as Castiel does. And then the other man's eyes fall shut, and he utters a phrase Dean hasn't heard in years.

“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

It's instant, Dean's reply, “Yeah, thanks for that.”

But there's so much more feeling behind those words now, and not a knife in sight.

“Yours was the brightest, most beautiful soul I had ever touched. Even there, in the darkness, surrounded by pain and terror and so much evil, you were a beacon of light. You deserved to be saved, Dean Winchester,” Cas says, sure and solid and just as determined as always to make Dean believe.

Castiel opens his eyes and there's a flicker of something there. Dean's hope grows, tightens his chest and causes his heart to race. Cas' grip strengthens and his fingers stretch to fit the perfect imprint of his hand. His eyes stay locked on Dean's now, but they're distant, staring into the past.

“Lilith. Lucifer. Michael. Crowley. Leviathans.”

Their entire history spills out of Castiel in a rush, one name or being after another. Dean watches the emotions play out over his face, every inch of him guilt ridden as he learns or remembers – Dean isn't sure – the truth of their past. And he almost regrets it. There's no need for Cas to relive this. And Dean realizes how selfish he was to want him to remember it all. He tries to pull away, but Castiel holds firmly, continues speaking.

“You forgave me. I failed you, tried to kill you and almost succeeded, but you forgave me. Why?” He asks, speaking more to himself than to Dean. Dean tries to answer anyway.

“Because I-”

“Oh,” Castiel cuts him off, “You... So close. And so warm. And wanting something I couldn't give. Not yet. I... there is more than I thought. More than Sam said. So much more than I remembered.”

Castiel breaks off, lets go of Dean's arm, and draws his hand to his stomach. His gaze loses the haze of memories spilling through him, and it's sharp again, crystal clear and searching. He stares intently into Dean's eyes, neither of them speaking for several long moments.

“There is so much,” Castiel repeats, his voice growing more reedy and disbelieving with every passing second, “I’m sorry,” Cas says, his eyes glassy and threatening, for the first time ever as far as Dean knows, to spill tears.

_Stay with me tonight_

“It's okay, Cas,” Dean offers, “We've been over this. We've done this. We've both made mistakes and we've both more than paid our penance. And we're better than our shortcomings. We're better because of each other, _for_ each other.”

Dean absolutely despises how cliché and chick flicky that sounds, but it's true, so he doesn't try to retract it. He just lets it soak in and waits. It seems that's all he does anymore where Cas is concerned. Just wait.

Cas nods, but there's still so much pain in him, evident in the way his hand is still clenching at his midsection, the way his eyes are roving over Dean's face, once again asking for forgiveness that's already his. Dean doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to make this better.

“So... do you actually remember? Or was that more a relearning thing?” Dean asks, suddenly desperate to know.

“I feel,” Castiel starts, “all of it. Perfectly. I know how I felt then. And I know how I feel now. I remember. It is too real to be anything else. And it hurts. So much more now than it did then.”

“Okay,” Dean replies, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs, trying to figure out where they go from here. It's unreal, all the sacrifices they've both made to get here. How much he's longed for this very moment, and now... Now he's just lost.

Maybe it's all too much for them to overcome. Maybe they'll never get past everything that sits between them. He thought that was what made them so important to each other. He thought their love had grown from their heartache. But maybe that's what kills them. Maybe there's too much history, most of it bad. Maybe it was all for nothing.

But then Castiel touches him, just a ghost of his fingertips over Dean's jaw, “You are doubting,” he whispers, and he sounds so much like himself again.

Dean tries to shake his head, but Cas stops him.

“It's okay. That is very... human of you. I have doubts too now. That’s normal, I think? But we, _this_ , meant enough to me to rip out the very essence of my angelic being. _You_ meant enough to me, Dean. And I remember it all now. We don’t need to rush, we can move slow-”

But Castiel doesn't get to finish his sentence. The days without him, knowing what he was doing and not being able to help, and then the memory loss and Dean being the only thing that could bring it back, it all crashes into Dean at once. And along with this knowledge that Cas still wants him, is still willing to work for them... still finds him worthy, it's too much. All of the emotion, which Dean would normally beat into submission, seeps into the very bones of him, and he lunges.

His hands grip the sides of Cas' face as he jolts from the bed, hunkered over at an uncomfortable angle, he brings their lips together. It's awkward, due to the way he's standing and the fact that Cas is taken by surprise, but Dean presses onward. He settles his lips over Castiel's, lining their mouths better, as he lowers himself so that he's straddling the other man's lap.

The chair is not nearly big enough for the both of them, but Cas pulls his knees together to make room for the slightly larger body above him. And, in a weird way, it kind of works. But all of that is just background noise for Dean. He's focused entirely on the feel of Castiel's lips, so soft but slightly chapped, beneath his own.

He maps the curious curve of Cas' top lip and then slips the tip of his tongue along the seam of that full mouth. Castiel opens for him like he's always just been waiting to do so. And Dean takes. He explores Cas' mouth thoroughly, flits his tongue over every tooth, licks at the ridges of the roof of his mouth, traces gently along Cas' tongue, tastes so deeply that they are both gasping for air by the time the seal of their mouths is broken.

“Or not,” Cas huffs, slightly bewildered but not complaining. At least not out loud, and from the way his eyes keep darting down to stare at Dean's lips, he doesn't think Cas is complaining to himself either.

Their foreheads are pressed together, and Dean stays quiet, concentrates on their breathing patterns. Castiel exhales. Dean inhales. And vice versa. Literally breathing each other in. It makes him lightheaded, but he can't stop, wants as much of Castiel inside of him as possible. And the implications of that send him for a loop, but Dean pushes through it. Vows to worry about it later. Right now he has Cas pliant and obviously wanting directly under him. That cannot be ignored, nor can Dean resist.

“We have been going slow, Cas. For years and years. I don’t want slow. Not anymore. I’m tired of slow,” Dean hears the whine in his own voice, feels the tremble in his hands where they’re now clutching at the sides of Cas’ neck, fingertips brush the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck, “If _you_ need time, that’s fine. If this is too much for you or if you’re not ready, I can wait. But I’m all in, baby.”

He means for the endearment to be flippant and flirty, but he doesn’t quite manage. He doesn’t mind so much when Cas tilts his head, a gentle but mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Baby?”

Dean just shrugs his shoulders and smiles right back.

“Like the car? Or?”

Dean chuckles at that and opens his mouth to deny it. But changes his mind at the hopeful glint he sees in Castiel’s eyes.

“Better than.”

Cas’ smile grows and he seems to take that for the declaration it’s meant to be and then he nods. And maybe that’s as close as they’ll ever get to saying the words. Dean admitting that Cas holds a higher place in his life than the Impala and Castiel giving up his title of Angel. But maybe that’s all they need, really.

“Not going slow would be okay too,” Cas whispers, leaning forward in invitation, offering his mouth, his body, his very soul to Dean. And Dean takes. For once in his life, he takes something because he wants it.

He doesn’t know if they’ll get their Happily Ever After, but they’re happy right now. And that’s good enough for Dean as he stands and pulls Cas toward his bed and perhaps also toward their future.

**Author's Note:**

> Customary tumblr plug: Hey, if you wanna follow me on [tumblr](http://sincestiel.tumblr.com/) that would be alright. I don't post much there yet, but I'm considering taking prompts. But that just depends on if anyone is interested. Shoot me an [ask](http://sincestiel.tumblr.com/ask) if you have a prompt and we'll see what happens. :)


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